


We're Only Several Miles From The Sun

by softer_softest



Category: Green Day
Genre: Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, Teenager AU, billie/mike - Freeform, i tried to make up a simple plot and i don't know if it's that important, that's it!, this is just fluff, young billie, young mike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:13:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15866196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softer_softest/pseuds/softer_softest
Summary: He wants to stay like this all night, then drag it out until Sunday morning, and only get up to piss and eat and play some music together. He can hear music in his head, too, some possible ode to romance and green eyes, and he faintly thinks he might have to write this down as soon as Billie climbs out of the window. He hugs him a bit tighter.or, a very short piece about soft boys napping and snuggling together.





	We're Only Several Miles From The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> i'm having trouble with my dead poets society piece again so i impulsively wrote, like, a bunch of little pieces like this. absolutely useless, please enjoy. as always: i do not own green day, and i'm not saying any of this happened.

It has just turned six in the evening when Mike finally pulls his nose out of the godforsaken book.

It dwells on him that there's a thin sheen of sweat covering his face, which feels as if it's entirely fallen asleep, and the sun isn't as bright as it was once he had sat in his ugly brown chair, the one that Billie absolutely loathes with the entirety of his being. Both of his feet have fallen asleep, his stomach's rumbling like crazy, and the windowsill that was once occupied by a pretty boy is now empty.

Mike scratches his eyebrow, then promptly starts scanning the room. The closet door's open, there's a ratty black jacket that isn't his thrown carelessly over the box in which he keeps his weed, and he can see that plenty of his stuff has been messed with, including his bass, now lying on the floor, next to the bed.

And speaking of the bed, he's pretty sure there's an extra lump somewhere in there, way bigger than a pillow or anything of the sorts. He sighs, tosses the hated book in the general direction of his desk, and winces when he hears a crash. He doesn't bother to turn around and instead stands up carefully, taking his sweet time stretching and gaining back feeling on his legs. He slowly walks forward, backtracking as he almost steps on the fretboard of his bass. Deciding that he really can't afford that, he rolls his eyes and mutters something akin to a name under his breath – a pretty name, at that – and puts it back in its place.

He can hear the sound of sheets rustling. His back's turned to the bed, but he can guess what exactly would be his view if he turns around right now, and it's not like he hasn't had the privilege of seeing it a hundred times before, but he still turns his head to the opposite side of the room – to the bed, next to the half-open window.

The thing is: there's a pleasant little breeze making its way inside, and it's not necessarily cold. It's soft, just like the sheets that cover his bed and just like the hair that's poking out from underneath the covers. This week's choice is bleached blonde – a personal favorite, if you ask him – and it's badly straightened, so much so that he wonders how it hasn't all fallen off yet.

“Bill,” Mike sings, dragging out the word in what he hopes is a melodic manner, his eyes catching the shoes on Billie's feet. He's lying on his bed with his muddy shoes on, but Mike can't do much more than huff in annoyance. Speaking of annoyance – Billie grumbles. _“Bill,”_ Mike sings again, though this time he's walking closer, until his foot's touching the night-table beside his bed.

The sheets rustle again, and there Billie is, in all his sleepy glory, lowering them down under his abdomen. His shirt's thrown away somewhere, probably, and his skin is full of goosebumps as the breeze makes contact with it. His eyes open to look at Mike, and then he checks at the other side of the room, where Mike had been once sitting.

“Am I dreaming?” Billie jokes. His voice is groggy, and his eyes are as puffy as his lips, though Mike guesses not for long. He just has to admire the view as long as it lasts. “Or did you really move from there?”

“It hasn't been _that_ long,” Mike mumbles, taking a seat in his narrow bed, lifting Billie's feet and putting them over his own shins.

Billie chuckles under his breath, shaking his head in amusement as he sits up, “Yeah, it has.” He stretches his arms up over his head, peeking at Mike from under his eyelashes as his neck and shoulders pop pleasantly. “Did you miss me at all?”

“As if you haven't been here since this morning,” Mike slaps his chest softly, wiping the sweat he rubs off of it on his pants. “You're here more than you are in your own house.”

Billie shrugs, his mouth opening wide to accommodate a silent yawn. He collapses back down, rubbing his arms against the soft material of the sheets, “Yours is cleaner.”

“Yeah, 'cause I actually help _clean_ it sometimes,” he retorts teasingly, grabbing a pillow to hold against his legs as Billie groans. He's still writhing around on the bed, stretching each and every one of his limbs carefully, his eyes unable to remain open.

“I didn't come here to be bitched at,” Billie complains, rubbing one of his eyes messily. He removes his feet from on top of Mike's shins, putting them back on his side of the single bed. “I came here to nap,” and then he slaps at his chest in contentment. “C'mon.”

“When did you fall asleep anyway?” Mike huffs, pushing Billie further away softly, laying down next to him. His joints pop once again. “Ow, Jesus.”

“Like, around four,” he replies, laying his head down next to Mike's armpit, the rest of his body curling around Mike's own, not touching. He rubs his skin over the sheets softly, burying his face in them, making sounds akin to a cat purring. That, combined with the little slice of sunshine that's covering the expanse of his waist and abdomen, is enough to keep Mike staring until Billie looks up at him again. “Have you really been reading that shit since three?”

“Huh?” he mumbles dumbly, quickly zoning back in. “Yeah, I suppose.” He starts playing with his own hair, then, and huffs when Billie gives him a disbelieving look, “It's not my fault, you know.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot,” Billie says, and someone who probably didn't know him that well wouldn't really make anything out of this statement, though Mike can practically see the irony dripping down his tongue. “It's bad Mr. Bird's fault.”

“Yes, indeed,” Mike rolls his eyes. “He's an ass.”

“And since when do you care about what he says?” Billie muses, his fingers having lifted Mike's shirt just a tad, and now dipping in and out of his bellybutton. Mike stills his hand to a stop with his own.

“Why not prove him wrong when I easily can? Stop that,” he adds distractedly, trying to pry Billie's hands away from his bellybutton. “The expression on his face once I tell him I finished the book will be worth not giving you attention for a couple hours.”

“You're pathetic,” Billie murmurs, stilling his hand and allowing Mike to hold onto his wrist. “You're allergic to books. And it's not like it's some book with a hundred pages or whatever – this monster's fucking five hundred pages! Who has time for that?”

“I do,” Mike laughs, his free hand making its way onto Billie's head, pushing back some of the straightened strands so that they don't poke his eye. “And I'm almost finished with it, anyway. Don't be all pissy about it.”

“I'm not pissy,” Billie huffs, and it's the first time that he convinces Mike of just that. He looks pretty content right now; still rolling around, purring – and looking, pretty much – like a cat, his eyes still adorably puffy. His hair's all fluffed up, as well, and Mike really can't help messing with it every two seconds. “Your bass sucks ass.”

Mike lets out a startled laugh, involuntarily looking back at his bass at the other side of the room, his gaze immediately returning to its rightful owner. “Did you mess with my bass?”

“Yes,” Billie shrugs, looking at the offending instrument ruefully, “and I realized it sucks _ass.”_

“Well, it's bound to suck ass if you have no fucking clue how to use it,” Mike says casually, pulling on a strand of Billie's hair softly as if to add emphasis. He's surprised it doesn't detach.

Billie's silent for a while, except the unnecessarily loud exhales he keeps letting out, his hand back to weirdly circling Mike's bellybutton. Just when Mike thinks this is the end of the conversation for a while, he hears Billie whisper, “I know damn well how to fucking use it,” to himself.

He bursts out laughing once again, closing his eyes in contentment once it comes down, focusing on just how warm Billie's hand on his lower stomach feels. He can hear sheets rustling again, and is extremely disappointed to report there's still no Billie lying on his chest. Instead, he rolls even further away, glued to the wall in favor of being the spitting image of a cat, as always. Mike's eyes open automatically, without him necessarily wanting to, and his hand reaches out to scratch along the surface of Billie's exposed back.

Billie purrs and rolls his shoulder blades in delight, his fingers flexing from where they're resting next to Mike's thigh. Mike can see his eyelashes flutter prettily, and he smiles as Billie gives another yawn, his jaw expanding in a telltale manner.

He proceeds the scratching, all along the base of Billie's neck down to his tailbone, absolutely relishing in the way Billie preens and gradually relaxes and goes limp, to the point where Mike's not sure he's even breathing.

“Bill?” he whispers gently, his scratching transitioning to light and tender tapping along Billie's lower back. He starts rubbing again, “Don't fall asleep on me again, pretty boy,” he whispers again, ever so softly, wanting to keep the atmosphere as peaceful and relaxing as it is in this exact moment. Billie doesn't react. “The least you can do is actually sleep _on_ me. Like... Let me hug you.”

Oh, he just knows Billie's just being a brat. His breathing rhythm is slow, sure, but the pattern is not slow enough for him to believe that Billie's fallen asleep. His hand stills on Billie's back.

“Bill,” he sings, moving closer, the sheets rustling with him. He peeks over Billie's shoulder, his arm nearly failing to support his upper body at the sight of fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips. There's no sign of a smirk or anything that would indicate Billie's awake and very well able to hear him, but Mike knows that's the case either way.

He buries his mouth in Billie's shoulder after his arm starts to hurt from lifting himself up, and his nose is almost touching Billie's cheek. He watches Billie's eyelashes flit and his nostrils twitch for a little while, eventually ripping his mouth away from Billie's skin, but not moving back all that much.

He pulls his shirt over his head, the breeze being all the more pleasant when he does so, and he goes back to nuzzling Billie's skinny shoulder, picking apart messy locks of his hair. He gets a bit sick of being ignored, eventually, so he puts his own shirt over Billie's head, detaching himself completely and staying on his own side.

He starts to laugh quietly as Billie's breathing gets a bit louder. He obviously gets tired of pretending he's out, Mike supposes, because he reaches up, jumbles up the shirt in his hand and throws it back on Mike's chest abruptly, who then tosses it on the floor.

“Bill,” he sighs after a while, tapping his fingers expectantly on Billie's hip.

“Alright, Jesus,” Billie suddenly snaps, rolling himself over lazily. He looks anything but annoyed, as much as he obviously wanted to be the case. He looks sleepy, quite frankly, and his pupils are a bit dilated, the whites of his eyes a light red. Mike knows that because Billie's looking up at him through his eyelashes, burying his mouth in Mike's chest lazily.

Mike pushes his hair back softly, tracing Billie's eyebrows with a single fingertip as he raises them up his forehead. He then traces around Billie's mouth, his lips, then around his nostrils, which earns him an aggravated huff through the nose. He pinches one of his cheeks jokingly, placing a sweet kiss on Billie's wrinkled nose.

“What a wuss,” Billie mutters, slapping Mike's chest in faux empathy. “Going for the nose. Ugly.”

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” Mike grumbles, leaning down to kiss him properly anyway. It's short, and Billie's plump lips feel cold and dry, but he guesses he's not one to talk. Billie must deem it good enough, seeing as he puts his head down, his ear glued against Mike's chest. He starts tapping his fingers to the rhythm of Mike's heart, and it tickles his stomach ever so slightly.

Mike lets his head loll to the side, his arm mechanically wrapping around Billie's back. He catches sight of Billie's jacket on the floor, and he faintly registers that his beloved box is lying underneath, for the reason of having dug it out a few hours earlier, though it remained forgotten on the floor. He gently taps Billie's cheek.

“Do you wanna smoke?”

Billie doesn't react for a little while. Mike starts to think he's fallen back to sleep, or is too lazy to move right now, but then Billie lifts his head to look at him again. It's all so casual, is the thing, and so incredibly soft, that he can't help but start scratching about Billie's lower back again.

Billie observes the stupid safety pin Mike had shoved in his pierced ear a few months ago – though he did admit that he actually thought it was hot when they had gotten high that one time, but Mike pretends that isn't the sole reason he still wears it to this day – and then he closes his eyes tiredly. “I already smoked it all.”

Mike pauses. His eyes stray to the jacket-covered box, but they're back on Billie in just a moment. “Are you serious?”

“It wasn't even that much,” Billie chuckles, his eyes still closed. He removes his hand from Mike's stomach in favor of rubbing along the bridge of his nose. “Barely got to me.”

Mike sighs through his nose, bringing one of his hands up to Billie's face, and gently prying one of his eyes open with two fingers. Billie opens his eyes himself, startled, the eye Mike's holding open starting to water from the sudden exposure to air.

“No wonder your eyes look like they're fucking bleeding.”

“Aw, someone's pissy,” Billie pouts teasingly, tapping Mike's cheek fondly. He starts laughing. “It was, like, three hours ago. You looked too engrossed in that book to smoke. I did you a favor.”

“Just,” Mike huffs, grabbing both of Billie's lips and holding them shut. Billie doesn't protest, just waits for Mike to say whatever he was about to say, though it's painfully obvious he's forgotten at this point. Mike sighs in resignation, freeing Billie's mouth from his hold and tossing his head back, chin towards the ceiling. He involuntarily stretches his whole body.

He can feel hushed, rumbling laughter coming from Billie's chest against his ribcage. Billie moves up, and then he feels the softest little pecks all along the base of his outstretched neck, exposed due to him still having his head thrown back. The kisses move up to his jaw, then his chin, and he never stops chuckling. The only reason Mike still hasn't relaxed his neck is the fear that his heart will burst as soon as he catches sight of Billie's sleepy eyes. He really can't afford that this early on in his life.

Although his eyes don't move from the ceiling, he can imagine that Billie's facial expression is sultry and sweet, that his eyes are as wide open as they can be after a nap and doe-like as always, and his lips must be shiny with spit, because he can feel the slight wetness all along his neck. He rubs at Billie's lower back for the millionth time in under an hour, hoping he produces some of those purr-like sounds against the skin of his neck. He does, to absolutely none of Mike's surprise. He sighs in fulfillment.

“I bet you look so pretty right now.”

It sort of slips, but it also sort of doesn't, because all he wanted was to express how beautiful he thinks Billie is. Though Billie doesn't say anything at that, Mike does feel him chuckle through his nose, feels him blow hot air on his jaw. It makes him smile ever so slightly, and he licks over his teeth absentmindedly.

Billie chuckles again, “Why can't you look at me, you dickhead?”

Mike starts stroking Billie's hair at the term of endearment, lolling his outstretched neck from side to side, “'Cause I think my heart is gonna burst.”

“I'm gonna throw up all the food we had for lunch,” Billie groans, and Mike can hear how serious he is. The thing is, everyone knows how big of a softie Billie is, let alone Mike. But contrary to popular belief, he hates it whenever Mike throws cheesy bullshit and compliments at him. Mike guesses he doesn't know how to react, most of the time, and so he proceeds to audibly show his disgust in hopes it's enough of an answer. Mike wouldn't have it any other way. “You love pulling fucking cheese out of your ass, huh?”

Mike finally angles his head to look down at him, a startled cackle of his warming up Billie's entire body, “Pulling what?”

 _“Cheese,”_ Billie simply replies, slapping Mike's cheek a bit harsher than necessary. “Hey, you're making eye contact! Would you look at that.”

Mike shrugs bashfully, a little smile playing on his lips from the sheer amusement Billie's offering him. He taps his knuckles on the surface of Billie's ass fondly, his other hand jerkily scratching on his lower stomach. Billie holds eye contact for a few more seconds before he puts his head back down on Mike's chest, his eyes flitting around all the posters on the wall opposite from them.

“When does your mom get off work?” Billie asks all of a sudden, his eyes hidden behind shiny eyelids, watching his own finger scratch along the surface of Mike's abdomen.

Mike's stomach rises and falls just once with silent laughter. “Like you don't know,” he mumbles, though he does lift his head to check the alarm clock on his bedside table. “She gets off at seven,” he answers, his head falling back down on his pillow. “We have one more hour.”

Billie groans, as if he was fearing that would be the answer, and sits up on the bed. Mike misses the warmth on his side already. Billie rolls his neck, sighing at the satisfying pops it produces and puts a warm hand back on Mike's naked stomach. Mike covers his hand with his own. “What do you think we could do to make it worthwhile?”

Mike looks at Billie, and then promptly drags his eyes away to look up at the ceiling in a passive-aggressive manner. He shrugs, “There's no weed left. So.”

“Can't you just forget about the weed?” Billie huffs, supporting himself on his knees. They dig into the mattress, making him sag down ever so slightly, and it makes Mike look at him. Billie lifts his eyebrows in return, “Do you wanna whine about some damn weed or think about how we could spend the next hour?”

Mike retreats. He squeezes the hand that's covered by his own and raises his eyebrows as Billie leans in, still sitting up on his knees, and kisses him with a hand on the back of his neck. His lips aren't as cold anymore, and Mike feels the goosebumps on Billie's flesh as he runs his hand up and down Billie's arm smoothly, trying to warm him up. He gets a bit of a thrill from the fact that the goosebumps may be due to his own self and not the breeze still coming in through the window.

“We could,” Mike tries, finding it hard to complete his thought when Billie keeps kissing him like that. He's pretty sure those are Billie's fingers playing with the waistband of his pants all of a sudden. He grabs his hand and brings it to a stop. “We could, like,” he manages to get Billie to stop sucking his face for a moment, feeling how swollen his lips must look. “Cuddle. And kiss,” he smiles bashfully, relishing on the dumb look on Billie's face.

Billie stares for a while, and then he slowly removes his hand from the hem of Mike's pants. “Yeah,” he breathes, falling back down on his back instead of his knees. He pats Mike's stomach helpfully, “That's what I was implying.”

Mike starts laughing, then, and rolls onto his side to cling to Billie, squeezing him until he gets yelled at. He gets away with it, for now. “I'm not daft, you know,” he loosens his grip around Billie, but he slings a leg over Billie's thighs. “I think you're too pretty to fuck right now.”

Billie pauses his stroking on Mike's arm, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. He rolls his head to the side, and looks at Mike dumbly, “Huh?” he mutters, and Mike giggles. “What does that even fucking mean?”

“It means that you look like a little kitty and I wanna hug you close,” Mike mumbles as he buries his face into Billie's neck softly, leaving a tiny kiss right under his jawbone. “And kiss you a lot. Today's not a _fucking day.”_

“When even is it a fucking day anymore?” Billie whines, but does hug Mike close as well, blinking at the wall as Mike's eyelashes brush against his skin. He glues his mouth against Mike's shoulder automatically and preens as he feels multiple little kisses being laid on the side of his neck, though he'd never admit it right this moment. He pats Mike's back encouragingly, “I hope you know neck kisses are gay.”

Mike nearly chokes on an inhale, and Billie laughs lightly as Mike's back shakes with laughter. He's breathing out on Billie's neck as if it was the absolute most brilliant thing that Billie's said. Billie's said plenty greater things. He still positively wheezes.

Billie rubs along his back to get him to stop shaking, and also stop bumping his shoulder on Billie's nose. He calms down enough to pull back and look at him, and Billie can't help but let out a little chuckle of his own when he notices the fucking tears in Mike's eyes. “Are _mouth_ kisses gay?” Mike inquires, his nose wrinkling to accommodate more laughter. Billie's fucking smitten.

“Gee, I don't know, Mike,” he replies, delivering a quick peck on Mike's mouth, so quick that Mike doesn't have time to catch it. “Is sucking dick gay?”

“Not if you don't spunk, it isn't,” Mike shrugs in faux casualty. “Generally, I think it's not gay unless the dicks touch.”

“Oh, my God,” Billie mutters under his breath, burying his head back into Mike's neck. “Don't turn straight on me,” he mumbles jokingly, stroking up and down Mike's back as Mike shushes him. He doesn't answer, and he guesses that's the end of that conversation.

They end up going back to their previous position, with Mike lying on his back and Billie half on top of him, and it's so peaceful that Mike never wants to move. He wants to stay like this all night, then drag it out until Sunday morning, and only get up to piss and eat and play some music together. He can hear music in his head, too, some possible ode to romance and green eyes, and he faintly thinks he might have to write this down as soon as Billie climbs out of the window. He hugs him a bit tighter.

Billie sighs after a while. “Can we nap together?” he asks, his eyes already drooping against Mike's chest. “I'm so tired.”

“Mom will be here in a while,” Mike mumbles into his hair, and then breathes in the smell of musk and solely Billie. “You can nap. I'll have to wake you up, though.”

“That's alright,” Billie mumbles, already half asleep. He digs a leg between Mike's thighs. “Can you scratch my back until I fall asleep?”

“Sure thing, brother,” Mike replies in a faux deep voice, feeling his ribcage vibrate from the deep groan Billie lets out. He places a hand on Billie's back and starts scratching up and down, his other hand automatically coming up to massage Billie's scalp just to hear the quiet purrs and hums he lets out.

Billie does end up falling asleep on his chest, and Mike also ends up nodding off for just half an hour with the help of the warmth of Billie's body and the comforting scent of his hair. His mom ends up coming home a little later than expected, and Billie ends up waking him by blowing raspberries on his stomach just before he puts on his shirt and climbs out the half-open window. It's good enough for Mike, and instead of grabbing his book from the desk, he grabs a pen and paper and tries to remember the lyrics that had been running around his mind just a mere hour ago.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
